Qué árbol espero?
Toda esa parte del mundo
a la que no iré nunca-
más
toda esa separación
que no volveré a sentir
alto en esta casa
en este hemisferio
en esta luz artificial
que es artificial
a la mañana bien temprano; oscuro
en páginas y lapiceras
en una cama extraña
en la curvatura del pie
los muebles
cada pelea
cuando empieza la mañana
y aun es de mañana
y aun es de noche
Me casé con una chica muerta
nacimos con su Florecer
recuerda ese abejorro gordo
que aterrizó en una lámpara
Yo abrí las puertas
y lo olvidé y la casa
se enfriaba y se enfriaba
donde la casa
es la unión entre bordes
y apenas llama mi atención
es oscura y delgada
Monitoreo cada situación
con mi vejiga llenándose
subo bajo
qué árbol estoy esperando
mi vida entera en aguaceros
esperando mi balsa
Volaré a otra isla
tomaré un tren
que ya conozco
dolerá
este es el país herido
vine aquí
para contar la herida como un pájaro
como un árbol
el tráfico tiene vueltas
lo vemos voltearse
arruinando nuestra noche
contiene grandes continentes
los sentimientos y los años
lo que es mío
quedándose ciego
grandes masas de ellos
sin regresar a casa
el país trazó una línea
por la memoria
dijo uno
siento mi corazón acelerando hacia adelante
en la eternidad se encuentra este dolor
hay insomnio
Eileen Myles, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1949
en Eileen Myles, I Must Be Living
Twice, New & Selected Poems, 1975-2014, Kindle Edition
versión ©Silvia Camerotto
imagen de Odilon Redon, Tree Against a Yellow Background
What Tree Am I Waiting
That
whole part of the world
where I won't go any-
more
that whole separation
that I won't feel
high in this house
in this hemisphere
in this artificial light
that is artificial
in the earliest morning; dark
in pages and pens
in an unfamiliar bed
in the foot curl
furniture
each rumble
when morning comes
and it's still morning
and it's still night
I married a dead girl
we were born in her Bloom
where I won't go any-
more
that whole separation
that I won't feel
high in this house
in this hemisphere
in this artificial light
that is artificial
in the earliest morning; dark
in pages and pens
in an unfamiliar bed
in the foot curl
furniture
each rumble
when morning comes
and it's still morning
and it's still night
I married a dead girl
we were born in her Bloom
remember
that fat bumblebee
landed on a lamp
I opened the doors
and I forgot and the house
got colder and colder
where is this house
the seam between boards
merely gains my attention
it's dark and thin
I monitor each situation
my bladder growing full
climb down climb up
what tree am I waiting
my whole life in weather
waiting for my raft
I'll fly to another island
I'll take a train
already I know
it will hurt
this is the hurt country
I came here
to hold the hurt like a bird
like a tree
traffic has rings
we watch it whirl around
damaging our night
great continents hold
the feelings and the ages
what is mine
going blind
great masses of them
not going home
the country drew a line
because of memory
one said
I feel my heart race ahead
in eternity there is this ache
there is this wakefulness
landed on a lamp
I opened the doors
and I forgot and the house
got colder and colder
where is this house
the seam between boards
merely gains my attention
it's dark and thin
I monitor each situation
my bladder growing full
climb down climb up
what tree am I waiting
my whole life in weather
waiting for my raft
I'll fly to another island
I'll take a train
already I know
it will hurt
this is the hurt country
I came here
to hold the hurt like a bird
like a tree
traffic has rings
we watch it whirl around
damaging our night
great continents hold
the feelings and the ages
what is mine
going blind
great masses of them
not going home
the country drew a line
because of memory
one said
I feel my heart race ahead
in eternity there is this ache
there is this wakefulness
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